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SWEETHEARTS 






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SWEETHEARTS 

A Book of Love Poems 



Compiled and Edited 
with an Introduction 



BY 



GEORGE N. MADISON 



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The Reilly C^ Britten Co. 
Chicago 



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Copyright, 1912 

by 

The Reilly ^ Britton Co. 



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Index of Authors 




Baltimore American 62 


Beddoes» Thomas Lovell 






19 


Blunt, Wilfred Scawen . 






. 18,30 


Boston Globe 






24 


Bourdillon, Francis W. . 






. 31,43 


Brooke, Stopford Augustus 






30 


Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 






. 31, 49, 53 


Browning, Bobert 






25 


Burns, Eobert 






37, 50, 51 


Byron, George Lord 




42, 


51, 55, 60, 61 


Campbell, Thomas 






17 


Carew, Thomas 






46 


Chambers* Journal 






9 


Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 






48, 55, 58 


Collins, Mortimer 






36 


Cowley, Abraham 






47 


Dickens, Charles 






47 


Dobson, Austin 






27 


Dryden, John 






83 


Field, Eugene 






63 


Ford, John .... 






20 


Giebel, Emanuel 






49 


Gilder, Eichard Watson 






14 


H. 






26 


Heine, Heinrich 






15 


Henley, William Ernest 






10 


Herrick, Robert 






41, 56, 62 


Holden, John Jarvis 






52 


Hood, Thomas 






57 


Hugo, Victor 






46 


Jones, Robert 






35 


Jonson, Ben .... 






. 27,45 


Lamartine, Alphonse Marie Iiou 


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16 



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Learned, Walter 






87 


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth . . 40, Bl 


Lovelace, Eichard 58 


Lowell, James Russell 






. 28,37 


Lyly, John 






32 


Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer 






IS 


McCarthy, Justin Huntley 






10 


Massey, Gerald 






46 


Moore, Thomas 






. 21,45 


Morris, George Pope 






85 


Patmore, Coventry 






47 


Prior, Matthew 






23 


Procter, Adelaide Anne 






IB 


Scott, Lady John 






60 


Scott, Sir Walter 






48 


Sedgwick, Jane M. 






26 


Shakespeare, William 






48 


Shelley, Percy Bysshe 






12, 34, 61 


Sheridan, Richard Brinsley 






69 


Sidney, Sir PhiUp . 






22 


Southey, Robert 






43 


Stanton, Frank L. 






41 


Suckling, Sir John . . . 






49 


Swain, Charles 






11, 14, 38 


Sylvester, Joshua 






11 


Tennyson, Alfred Lord 






11, S2, S3, 36 


Thomson, James 






54 


Vanhrugh, Sir John 






39 


Waller, Edmund 






22 


Watts, Alaric Alexander 






50 


Wilkye, John 






34 


Wordsworth, William 






44 


-—Anonymous 


. 


. 


23. 29, 59 




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Introduction 

While it is doubtless tme that sighs are the lan- 
guage of Love, each lover is a law unto himself, and 
some other means of communication is necessary be- 
tween him and the outside world. Love is the highest 
of the emotions; it finds expression in the highest 
of the arts. But in poetry alone has it been voiced 
at all adequately. 

Of all the emotions, love is the one most keenly 
felt; and the poetry that springs from such a source 
must necessarily ,be the most vital and most sincere; 
expressing a genuine feeling, it shows least artifice 
— and most art. Much of it is brief; exalted passion 
does not vent itself in long-winded rhapsodies. 

All the world loves a lover, because that is a state 
of being all pass into — and some through. AH the 
world loves a love-song, for most of us too have at 
some time or other experienced the delightful thrill 
of turning a rhyme in honor of **that not impossible 
she.** And though **this world is nearly five thousand 
years old, and men have died of many things . . . 
but none of love,** still, those who have languished 
in verse are legion. 

Probably more poetry has been inspired by the 
divine passion than springs from every other source; 
Love and Ljrric have come to be almost synonymous. 
Odes, Sonnets, Ballads, — doleful but always soulful, 
hopeful or despairing, long or short, ranging from 
Peggy to Phyllis, from "Her Eyebrow'* to **Her 





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Constancy and Truth,'* make a Book of Love that 

knows no binding. 

So it necessarily follows that in such a tiny volume 
as this only a comparative few of the many songs 
that have been sung by poets great and lesser, can be 
included. Some discrimination must be exercised in 
choosing from such a goodly company. This little 
book makes no pretense to being exhaustive, even in 
the more or less definite field indicated by the title. 
But an attempt has been made to include none but 
the best, and of these to give as many as possible. 
— aEOBGE N. MADISON. 




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SWEETHEARTS 

Love 

Love is not made of kisses, or of sighs. 
Of clinging hands, or of the sorceries 
And subtle witchcrafts of alluring eyes. 

Iiove is not made of broken whispers; no! 

Nor of the blushing cheek, whose answering 

glow 
Tells that the ear has heard the accents low. 

Love is not made of tears, nor yet of smiles. 
Of quivering lips, or of enticing wiles: 
Love is not tempted; he himself beguiles. 

This is Love's language, but this is not Love. 

If we know aught of Love, how shall we dare 
To say that this is Love, when well aware 
That these are common things, and Love is 
rare? 

As separate streams may, blending, ever roll 
In course united, so, of soul to soul, 
Love is the union into one sweet whole. 

As molten metals mingle; as a chord 

Swells sweet in harmony; when Love is Lord, 

Two hearts are one, as letters form a word. 

One heart, one mind, one soul, and one desire, 

A kindred fancy, and a sister fire 

Of thought and passion; these can Love inspire. 

This makes a heaven of earth; for this is Love. 

— Chambers' Journal. 



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If I Were King 

If I were king— ah love, if I were king! 
What tributary nations would I bring 
To stoop before your sceptre and to swear 
Allegiance to your lips and eyes and hair! 
Beneath your feet what treasures I would fling:— 
The stars should be your pearls upon a string, 
The world a ruby for your finger ring, 
And you should have the sun and moon to wear 
If I were king. 

Let tliese wild dreams and wilder words take 

wing; 
Deep in the woods I hear a shepherd sing 
A simple ballad to a sylvan air. 
Of love that ever finds your face more fair. 
I could not give you any goodlier thing 

If I were king. 

— Justin Huntley McCarthy. 



Love Notes 

The nightingale has a lyre of gold, 

The lark's is a clarion call, 
And the blackbird plays but a box-wood flute, 

But I love him best of all. 

For his song is all the joy of life. 
And we in the mad spring weather. 

We two have listened till he sang 
Our hearts and lips together. 

— William Ernest Henley. 

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Love's Omnipresence 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain 
And you, my Love, as Mgh as heaven above, 
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain 
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. 

Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 
And you, my Love, as humble and as low 
As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. 

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies. 
My love should shine on you like to the sun. 
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes 
Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. 

Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, 
Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 

— Joshua Sylvester. 



Song 
What need of words when lovers meet? 
What need of sighs and glances sweet. 
As long as faithful hearts can beat? 

— Charles Swain. 



The True Beauty 
O Love, O fire! once he drew 
With one long kiss my whole soul through 
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. 

— Alfred Lord Tennyson. 
11 





Lines to an Indian Air 

I axise from dreams of thee 

In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low 

And the stars are shining bright. 
I arise from dreams of thee, 

And a spirit in my feet 
Hath led me — ^who knows how? — 

To thy chamber-window, sweet! 

The wandering airs they faint 
On the dark, the silent stream; 

And the champak odors pine 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream; 

The nightingale's complaint 
It dies upon her heart, 

As I must die on thine, 

beloved as thou art! 

O lift me from the grass! 

1 die, I faint, I fail! 
Let thy love in kisses rain 

On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white, alas! 

My heart beats loud and fast; 
O press it to thine own again. 

Where it will break at last! 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



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When Stars Are in the Quiet Skies 

When stars are in the quiet skies. 

Then most I pine for thee; 
Bend on me then thy tender eyes, 

As stars look on the sea! 
For thoughts, like waves that glide by night, 

Are stillest when they shine; 
Mine earthly love lies hushed in light 

Beneath the heaven of thine. 

There is an hour when angels keep 

Familiar watch o 'er men, 
When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep: 

Sweet spirit, meet me then! 
There is an hour when holy dreams 

Through slumber fairest glide. 
And in that mystic hour it seems 

Thou shouldst be by my side. 

My thoughts of thee too sacred are 

For daylight's common beam: 
I can but know thee as my star. 

My angel, and my dream! 
When stars are in the quiet skies. 

Then most I pine for thee; 
Bend on me then thy tender eyes, 

As stars look on the sea. 

— Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. 



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A Heart for Every One 

Ah, there 'g a heart for every one, 

If every one could find it; 
Then up and seek, ere youth is gone, 

Whate'er the toil, ne'er mind it; 
For if you chance to meet at last 

With that one heart, intended 
To "be a blessing unsurpassed, 

Till life itself is ended, 
How would you prize the labour done, 

How grieve if you resigned it; 
Tor there 's a heart for every one, 

If every one could find it! 

Two hearts are made, the angels say. 

To suit each other dearly; 
But each one takes a different way, — 

A way not found so clearly! 
Yet though we seek, and seek for years, 

The pains are worth the taking. 
For what the life of home endears 

Like hearts of Angel's making? 
Then haste, and guard the treasure now, 

When fondly you *ve enshrined it, 
For there 's a heart for every one. 

If every one could find itc 

— Charles Swain. 

Song 

Not from the whole wide world I chose thee. 

Sweetheart, light of the land and the sea! 
The wide, wide world could not inclose thee. 
For thou art the whole wide world to me. 
— Eichard Watson Gilder. 
14 



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A Woman's Answer 

I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise 
Seems like a crown upon my Ijif e, to make 

It better worth the giving^ and to raise 
Still nearer to your own the heart you take. 

I love all good and noble souls; I heard 
One speak of you but lately, and for days, 

Only to think of it, my soul was stirred 
In tender memory of such generous praise. 

I love all those who love you, all who owe 
Comfort to you; and I can find regret 

Even for those poorer hearts who once could 
know. 
And once could love you, and can now forget. 

Will you be jealous? Did you guess before 
I loved so many things? Still you the best; 

Dearest, remember that I love you more, 
Oh, more a thousand times, than all the rest. 
— Adelaide Anne Procter. 



Love's Resume 

The Sun, the Rose, the Lily, the Dove, — 

I loved them all, in my early love. 

I love them no longer, but her alone, — 

The Pure, the Tender, the Only, the One. 

For she herself, my Queen of Love, 

Is Bose, and Lily, and Sun, and Dove! 

— Heinrich Heine. 
15 



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Almond Blossoms 

The almond blossoms on this tree 
As emblems of thy charms were made; 

The flowers of life, my sweet, like thee; 
Yet ere the summer *s gone they fade. 

E'en let us pluck them as we will, 
In Love's soft hands they die away, 

And, leaf by leaf, they perish still. 
Like our short pleasures, day by day. 

So let us take them in their prime, 
Dispute them from the zephyr's breath, 

Enjoy the fragrance while we 've time, 
Of perfume soon to fade in death; 

For beauty often, as it flies. 
Is like some rosy morning flower, 

Which withers in the wreath, and dies 
A while before the festal hour. 

Each day must die when once 't is bom, 
Each spring-time blushing fresh and coy, 

Yet each flower on the lap of mom 
But bids us hasten to enjoy. 

And so, since all we love and cherish 
Must fade when most we feel its bliss. 

Let, let the glowing roses perish. 

But only 'neath Love's lingering kiss. 
— Alphonse Marie Louise de Lamartine. 



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The First Kiss 

How delicious is the winning 
Of a kiss at Love's beginning 
When two mutual hearts are sighing 
For the knot there 's no untying! 

Yet remember, 'midst your wooing, 
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing; 
Other smiles may make you fickle« 
Tears for other charms may trickle. 

Love he comes, and Love he tarries^ 
Just as fate or fancy carries; 
Longest stays when sorest chidden; 
Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden. 

Bind the sea to slumber stilly. 
Bind its odor to the my. 
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver. 
Then bind Love to last forever! 

Lov-e's a fire that needs renewal 

Of fresh beauty for its fuel; 

Love's wing moults when caged and captured. 

Only free he soars enraptured. 

Can you keep the bee from ranging, 
Or the ring-dove's neck from changing? 
No! nor fettered Love from dying 
In the knot there 's no untying. 

— Thomas Campbell. 



17 



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Love Me a Little 

Love me a little, love me as thou wilt, 
Whether a draught it be of passionate wine 
Poured with hoth hands divine, 
Or just a cup of water spilt 
On dying lips and mine. 
Give me the love thou wilt, 
The purity, the guilt, 
So it be thine. 

Love me a little. Let it be thy cheek 
With its red signals that were dear to kiss. 
Or, if thou mayest not this, 
A finger-tip my own to seek 
At nightfall when none guess. 
Eyes have the wit to speak. 
And sighs send messages: 
Even give less. 

Love me a little. Let it be in words 

Of happy omen heralding thy choice. 

Or in a veiled sad voice 

Of warning, like a frightened bird's. 

How should I not rejoice 

Though Bwords be crossed with swords 

And discord mar Love's chords, 

And tears thy voice? 



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Love Thee? 

Love thee? — so well, so tenderly 

Thou 'rt loved, adored by me, 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty. 

Were worthless without thee. 
Though hrimm'd with blessings, pure 
and rare, 

Life's cup before me lay. 
Unless thy love were mingled there 

I'd spurn the draught away. 

Love thee? — so well, so tenderly 

Thou 'rt loved, adored by me. 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 

Were worthless without thee. 
Without thy smile, the monarch's lot 

To me were dark and lone, 
While, with it, even the humblest cot 

Were brighter than hia throne. 

Those worlds, for which the conqueror 



For me would have no charms: 
My only world thy gentle eyes — 

My throne thy circling arms! 

Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly 

Thou 'rt loved, adored by me. 
Whole realms of light and liberty 

Were worthless without thee. 

— Thomas Moore. 



21 






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On a Girdle 

That which her slender waist confined 
Shall now my joyful temples bind: 
No monarch but would give his crown 
His arms might do what this has done. 

It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely dear: 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love 
Did all within this circle move. 

A narrow compass! and yet there 
Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; 
Give me but what this ribband bound, 
Take all the rest the sun goes round. 

— Edmund Waller. 



A Ditty 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 
By just exchange one for another given: 

I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. 
There never was a better bargain driven: 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

His heart in me keeps him and me in one, 
My heart in him his thoughts and senses 
guides: 
He loves my heart, for once it was his own, 

I cherish his because in me it bides: 
My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
— Sir Philip Sidney. 
22 



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Song 

Accept, my love, as true a heart 

As ever lover gave; 
*T is free, it vows, from any art, 

And proud to be your slave. 

Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant. 

And let the giver live. 
Who, with it, woiUd the world have sent 

Had it been his to give. 

And, that Dorinda may not fear 

I e'er will prove untrue, 
My vow shall, ending with the year. 

With it begin anew. 

— Matthew Prior— 1666-1721. 



Good Night 

Good night! Good night! Ah, good the night 
That wraps thee in its silver light. 
Good night! No night is good for me 
That does not hold a thought of thee. 
Good night. 

Good night! Be every night as sweet 
As that which made our love complete, 
TiU that last night when death shall be 
One brief "Good night!" for thee and me. 
Good night! 

— Anonymous. 
23 







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In Church 

She *8 the dearest little lady, 
And her eyes are deep and shady 

As she kneels, 
And her look of pure emotion 
Shows how true is the devotion 

That she feels. 

She is plump and oh, so pretty! 
With her no one in the city 

Can compare. 
Of her charms I might make mention — 
Her sweet eyes are like the gentian, 

Blue and rare. 

She has hair of richest tinting, 

Softest brown, with gold gleams glinting 

Here and there. 
On her cheeks a hue reposes 
Like the hearts of blushing roses. 

Yet more fair. 

I could read a page of Latin 
Sooner than describe the satin 

Of her gown. 
Of its shade there 's no divining, 
So I watch its silken shining, 

Looking down. 

Oh, she '8 such a dainty treasure! 
I could never, never measure 

All her charms. 



24 



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So I sit and lose the preaching. 
Only thinking now of reaching 

Her soft arms. 

On the sermon's speedy ending 
All the hopes are now depending 

Of my life. 
My excuse, if you'll believe me — 
Full confession will relieve me — 

She 's my wife. 

— Boston Globe. 



Song from "Pippa Passes" 

Tou 'U love me yet! — and I can tarry 
Tour love's protracted growing: 

June reared that bunch of flowers you carry 
From seeds of April's sowing. 

I plant a heartful now ^^ some seed 

At least is sure to strike 
And yield — what you'll not pluck indeed, 

Not love, but, may be, like! 

You'll look at least on love's remains, 

A grave's one violet: 
Your look? — that pays a thousand pains. 

What's death? — You '11 love me yet! 

— Robert Browning. 







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A Kiss Within the Cup 

There is no gladness in the glass 

Unless thou pour for me; 
But taste it first before it pass, 

And I will drink with thee: 
For if those lovely lips of thine 

Have breathed upon the brim, 
I swear that I will drain the wine, 

Although it reach the rim. 

Oh, who could bear to say thee nay. 

When thou hast kissed the cup? 
Or who would turn the other way, 

When thou hast filled it up? 
Tor oh, the cup has kept the kiss 

And carries me a share, 
To show me all the wasted bliss 

Thy lips have lavished there! 

— Jane M. Sedgwick. 



Pure and True and Tender 

Pure and true and tender 

My love must be; 
Handsome, tall, and slender 
My love may be; 
But if the first be his 

Who loveth me, 
My heart will rest in bliss 

And constancy. 

— H. 



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To Celia 

Drink to ms only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine; 
Or leave a kiss within the cup 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe 

And sent' St it back to me; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Kot of itself, but thee! 

— Ben Jonson. 



Rose 

Bose kissed me to-day. 
Will she kiss me to-morrow? 

Iiet it be asi it may, 

Bose kissed me to-day. 

But the pleasure gives way 
To a savor of sorrow. 

Bose kissed me to-day — 
Will she kiss me to-morrow? 

— ^Austin Dobson. 
27 







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Love 

True Love is but a humble, low-born thing, 
And hath its food served up in earthen ware; 
It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand, 
Through the every-dayness of this work-day 

world. 
Baring its tender feet to every roughness, 
Yet letting not one heart-beat go astray 
From Beauty's law of plainness and content; 
A simple, fireside thing, whose quiet smile 
Can warm earth's poorest hovel to a home; 
Which, when our autumn cometh, as it must, 
And life in the chill wind shivers bare and leaf- 
less, 
Shall still be blest with Indian-summer youth 
In bleak November, and, with thankful heart, 
Smile on its ample stores of garnered fruit, 
As full of sunshine to our aged eyes 
As when it nursed the blossoms of our spring. 

Such is true Love, which steals into the heart 
With feet 9s silent as the lightsome dawn 
That kisses smooth the rough brows of the dark. 
And hath its will through blissful gentleness, — 
Not like a rocket, which, with savage glare, 
Whirs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the 

night 
Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes; 
A Love that gives and takes, that seeth faults. 
Not with flaw-seeking eyes like needle points, 
But, loving kindly, ever looks them down 
With the o'ercoming faith of meek forgiveness; 



28 



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A Love that shall he new and fresh each hour 

As is the golden mystery of sunset, 

Or the sweet coming of the evening star, 

Alike, and yet most unlike, every day. 

And seeming ever blest and fairest now. 

— James Russell LoweU. 



I Cannot Help Loving Thee 
If the apple grows on the apple tree 
And the wild wind blows o'er the wild wood free, 
And the deep streams flow to the deeper sea; 
And they cannot help growing, and blowing, and 
flowing, 

I cannot help loving thee. 

But if wild winds blew no more on the lea 
And no blossoms grew on the healthy tree. 
And the river untrue escaped the sea; 
And they all had ceased growing, and blowing, and 
flowing, 

I'd never cease loving thee. 

And till that hour in the day or night. 
In the field or bower, in the dark or light. 
In the fruit or flower, in the bloom or blight, 
In my reaping or sowing, my coming or going, 
I'll never cease loving thee. 

— Anonymous. 



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On His Fortune in Loving Her 

I did not choose thee, dearest. It was Love 
That made the choice, not I. Mine eyes were 
blind 
As a rude shepherd's who to some lone grove 
His offerings brings, and cares not at what 
shrine 
He bends his knee. The gifts alone were mine; 

The rest was Love's. He took me by the hand, 
And fired the sacrifice, and poured the wine, 

And spoke the words I might not understand. 
I was unwise in all but the dear chance 
Which was my fortune, and the blind desire 
"Which led my foolish steps to Love's abode. 
And youth's sublime unreasoned prescience 
Which raised an altar and inscribed in fire 
Its dedication **to the unknown god." 

— Wilfred Scawen Blunt. 



May and Love 

May in the woods and in my heart, 

And we beside the river; 
King Love between us flying 

Said, ** Children, love forever.** 

I heard him, and I thought she heard, 

Her lips began to quiver, 
And so I shyly kissed her; 

Love laughed along the river! 

— Stopford Augustus Brooke. 

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Sonnet from the Portuguese 

How do I love thee? I*et me count the ways. 
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day's 

Most quiet need, hy sun and candlelight, 

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; 
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise; 
I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's 
faith; 
I love thee with a love I seem to lose 

With my lost saints — I love thee with the 
iMreath, 
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose, 

I shall hut love thee better after death. 

— Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



Light 

The night has a thousand eyes, 

And the day but one, 
Yet the light of the bright world dies 

With the dying sun. 

The mind has a thousand eyes. 

And the heart but one. 
Yet the light of a whole Ufe dies 
When love is done. 

— Francis W. BourdiUon. 
31 



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Apelles' Song 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 
At cards for kisses — Cupid paid. 
He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows, 
His mother's doves and team of 

sparrows; 
Loses them, too; then down he throws 
The coral of his lip, the rose 
Growing on 's cheek (hut none knows 

how); 
With these the crystal of his brow, 
And then the dimple of his chin — 
All these did my Campaspe win. 
At last he set her both his eyes. — 
She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
O Love, has she done this to thee? 
What shall, alas! become of me? 

— John Lyly — 1554-1606. 



From "The Gardener's Daughter" 

Then, in that time and place, I spoke to her, 
Bequiring, tho* I knew it was mine own. 
Yet for the pleasure that I took to hear, 
Requiring at her hand the greatest gift, 
A woman's heart, the heart of her I loved; 
And in that time and place she answered me 
And in the compass of three little words, 
More musical than ever came in one, 
The silver fragments of a broken voice, 
Made me most happy, faltering, **I am thine." 

— Alfred Lord Tennyson^ 

32 




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Sonnet 

Oh, Beauty, passing beauty! sweetest Sweet! 

How canst thou let me waste my youth in sighs? 
I only ask to sit beside thy feet. 

Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes, 
Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold 

My arms about thee — scarcely dare to speak. 
And nothing seems to me so wild and bold, 

As with one kiss to touch thy blessed cheek. 
Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control 

Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat 
The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke. 

The bare word Iciss hath made my inner soul 
To tremble like a lutestring, ere the note 

Hath melted in the silence that it broke. 

— Alfred Lord Tennyson. 



From "All for Love" 

Anthony — How I loved. 

Witness, ye days and nights, and all ye hours 

That danced away with down upon your feet, 

As all your business were to count my passion. 

One day passed by and nothing saw but love! 

Another came, and still *twas only love; 

The suns were wearied out with looking on. 

And I untired with loving, 

I saw you every day, and all the day. 

And every day was still but as the first; 

So eager was I still to see you more. 

— John Dryden. 




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Love's Philosophy 

The fountains mingle with the river, 

And the rivers with the ocean. 
The winds of heaven mix forever 

With a sweet emotion; 
Nothing in the world is single; 

All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle — 

Why not I with thine? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another; 
No sister flower would be forgiven 

If it disdained Its brother: 
And the sunlight clasps the earth. 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea, 
What are all these kissings worth. 

If thou kiss not me? 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



Madrigal 

Love not me for comely grace, 
For my pleasing eye or face, 
Nor for any outward part: 
No, nor for a constant heart! 
For these may fail or turn to ill: 

So thou and I shall sever. • 
Keep, therefore, a true woman *8 eye, 
And love me stiU, but know not why! 
So hast thou the reason still 

To dote upon me ever. 

— John Wilkye — 1609. 

34 



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When Other Friends Are Round Thee 

When other friends are round thee, 

And other hearts are thine, 
When other bays have crown 'd thee. 

More fresh and green than mine, 
Then think how sad and lonely 

This doting heart will he, 
Which, while it throhs, throhs only, 

Beloved one, for thee I 

Yet do not think I doubt thee, 

I know thy truth remains; 
I would not live without thee. 

For all the world contains. 
Thou art the star that guides me 

Along life's changing sea; 
And whatever fate betides me, 

This heart still turns to thee. 

— George Pope Morris. 



From "Ultimum Vale" 

Sweet, if you like and love me still. 
And yield me love for my goodwill. 
And do not from your promise start 
When your fair hand gave me your heart; 

If dear to you I be 

As you are dear to me. 
Then yours I am and will be ever: 
Nor time nor place my love shall sever. 
But faithful still will I persevere. 

Like constant marble stone, 

Iioving but you alone. 

— ' Robert Jones — 1608. 
35 




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From "In Memoriam" 

I envy not in any moods 

The captive void of noble rage, 
The linnet bom within the cage, 

That never knew the summer woods: 

I envy not the beast that takes 
His license in the field of time 
Unfetter 'd by the sense of crime. 

To whom a conscience never wakes; 

Nor, what may count itself as blest, 
The heart that never plighted troth 
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; 

Nor any want-begotten rest. 

I hold it true, whate'er befall; 

I feel it, when I sorrow most; 

*T is better to have loved and lost 
Than never to have loved at all. 

— Alfred Lord Tennyson. 



A Conceit 

You touched my heart; it gave a thrill 

Just like a rose 
That opens at a lady's will; 
Its bloom is always yours, until 

You bid it close. 

— Mortimer Collins. 

36 



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A Red» Red Rose 

Oh, my luve 's like a red, red rose, 

That 's newly sprung in June: 
Oh, my luve's like the melodie 

That 's sweetly played in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear. 

Till a* the seas gang dry. 

Till a* the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt in the sun, 

I will luve thee still, my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 

And fare thee weel awhile! 
And I will come again, my luve. 

Though it were ten thousand mile. 

— Robert Burns. 



From "My Love" 

She doeth little kindnesses 

Which most leave undone, or despise; 

For naught that sets one heart at ease, 

And giveth happiness or peace, 

Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 

— James Bussell LowelL 

37 



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I Waited Till the Twilight 

I waited till the twilight, 

And yet he did not come; 
I strayed along the brookside, 

And slowly wandered home; 
When who should come behind me, 

But him I would have chid; 
He said he came to find me — 

Do you really think he did? 



He said since last we parted. 

He 'd thought of naught so sweet. 
As of this very moment, — 

The moment we should meet. 
He showed me where, half -shaded, 

A cottage home lay hid. 
He said for me he 'd made it — 

Do you really think he did? 

He said when first he saw me, 

Life seemed at once divine, 
Each night he dreamed of angels. 

And every face was mine; 
Sometimes a voice in sleeping 

Would all his hopes forbid; 
And then he 'd waken weeping — 

Do you really think he did? 

— Charles Swain. 



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Song 

I smile at Love and all its arts, 

The charming Cynthia cried: 
Take heed, for Love has piercing darts, 

A wounded swain replied. 
Once free and blest as you are now, 

I trlGLed with his charms, 
I pointed at his little bow, 

And sported with his arms. 
Till urged too far, Revenge! he cries, 

A fatal shaft he drew, 
It took its passage through your eyes, 

And to my heart it flew. 

To tear it thence I tried in vain. 

To strive, I quickly found 
Was only to increase the pain. 

And to enlarge the wound. 

Ah! much too well, I fear, you know 

What pain I'm to endure, 
Since what your eyes alone can do 

Your heart alone can cure. 
And that (grant Heaven, I may mistake) 

I doubt is doom'd to bear 
A burden for another's sake. 

Who ill rewards its care. 

— Sir John Vanbrugh. 1666-1726. 



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Endymion 

The rising moon has hid the stars; 

Her level rays, like golden bars, 
liie on the landscape green, 
With shadows hrown between. 

And silver white the river gleams. 
As if Diana in her dreams, 

Had dropt her silver bow 

Upon the meadows low. 

On such a tranquil night as this, 

She woke Endymion with a kiss, 

When, sleeping in the grove, 

He dreamed not of her love. 

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
Love gives itself, but is not bought; 
Nor voice nor sound betrays 
Its deep impassioned gaze. 

It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity, — 

In silence and alone 

To seek the elected one. 

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, 
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, / 
And kisses the closed eyes 
Of him, who slumbering lies. 



40 




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O, weary hearts I O, slumbering eyes I 
O, drooping souls, whose destinies 

Are fraught with fear and pain, 

Ye shall he loved againi 

No one is so accursed hy fate, 
No one so utterly desolate, 

But some heart, though unknown, 

Eesponds unto his own. 

Responds, — as if with unseen wings, 
An angel touched its cLuivering strings; 
And whispers, in its song, 
** Where hast thou stayed so long?'* 

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



Upon a Virgin Kissing a Rose 

'T was but a single rose, 
Till you on it did breathe; 

But since, methinks, it shows 
Not so much rose as wreath. 

— Robert Herrick. 



This world that we 're a livin' in 

Is mighty hard to beat; 
You get a thorn with every rose, 
But ain't the roses sweet! 

— Frank I*. Stanton. 
41 








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Maid of Athens 

Maid of Athens, ere we part, 
Give, oh, give me "back my heart! 
Or, since that has left my breast. 
Keep it now, and take the rest! 
Hear my vow before I go. 
My dearest life, I love thee. 



By those tresses unconfined. 
Wooed by each ^gean wind; 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; 
By those wild eyes like the roe. 
My dearest life, I love thee. 



By that lip I long to taste; 
By that zone-encircled waist; 
By all the token-flowers that tell 
What words can never speak so well; 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 
My dearest life, I love thee. 



Maid of Athens! I am gone; 
Think of me, sweet! when alone. 
Though I fly to Istambol, 
Athens holds my heart and soul; 
Can I cease to love thee? No! 
My dearest life, I love thee. 

— George Lord Byron. 
42 






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Immortality of Love 

They sin who tell us love can die, 
With life all other passions fly, 

All others are but vanity; 
In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 
Nor avarice in the vaults of heU; 
Earthly these passions of the earth, 
They perish where they have their birth; 

But love is indestructible: 
Its holy flame forever bumeth; 
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. 
Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 
At times deceived, at times oppressed, 

It here is tried and purified. 
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest: 

It soweth here with toil and care. 

But the harvest-time of love is there. 

— Robert Southey. 



Farewell 

The water lingers where the leaves 

Of lilies white are lying. 
The daylight there, on summer eves. 

With dim regret is dying. 
Only the shadows noiselessly 

Now brood the white leaves over. 
So, when mine eyes must turn from thee 

Each sad thought is thy lover. 

— Francis W. Bourdillon. 
43 




iSi^" 







She Was a Phantom of Delight 

She was a phantom of delight, 

When first she gleamed upon my sight; 

A lovely apparition sent 

To be a moment's ornament; 

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; 

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 

But all things else about her drawn 

From May- time and the cheerful dawn; 

A dancing shape, an image gay. 

To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A spirit, yet a woman too! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin-liberty; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet; 

A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food. 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eyes serene 
The very pulse of the machine, 
A being breathing thoughtful breath 
A traveler between life and death; 
The reason firm, the temperate will. 
Endurance, foresight, strength and skill; 
A perfect woman, nobly planned 
To warn, to comfort, and command; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright, 
With something of an angel light. 

— William Wordsworth. 
44 




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When First We Loved 

Oh, no! — not e'en when first wb loved, 

Wert thou as dear as now thou art; 
Thy beauty then my senses moved, 

But now thy virtues hind my heart. 
What was but Passion's sigh before. 

Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow; 
And, though I then might love thee more, 

Trust me, I love thee letter now. 

Although my heart in earlier youth 

Might kindle with more wild desire, 
Believe me, it has gain'd in truth 

Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core 

That then but sparkl'd o'er my brow. 
And, though I seem'd to love thee more. 

Yet, oh, I love thee better now. 

— Thomas Moore. 

Love 

There is no life on earth but being in love! 
There are no studies, no delights, no business. 
No intercourse, or trade of sense, or soul. 
But what is love! I was the laziest creature, 
The most unprofitable sign of nothing. 
The veriest drone, and slept away my life 
Beyond the dormouse, till I was in love! 
And now I can outwake the nightingale, 
Outwatch an usurer, and outwalk him too! 
Stalk like a ghost that haunted 'bout a treasure. 
And all that fancied treasure, it is love! 

— Ben Jonson. 
45 




47 



^^ 



To Celia 

He that loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires, — 
As old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind. 
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 

Hearts with equal love combined. 
Kindle never-dying fires: 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. 

— Thomas Carew. 



Love in Idleness 

I only see — that thou art near, 
I only feel — I have thee, dear! 

I only hear thy throbbing heart. 
And know that we can never part. 

— Gerald Massey. 



All— All Is Love / 

To idolize our very dreams — 
Women were given us for this, 

And every power in nature seems 
To teach us how to love and kiss. 

— Victor Hugo. 

46 



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Song 

Love is not a feeling to pass away, 

Like the balmy breath of a summer-day; 

It is not — it cannot be — laid aside; 

It is not a thing to forget or hide. 

It clings to the heart, ah, woe is me! 

As the ivy clings to the old oak-tree. 

Love is not a passion of earthly mould, 
As a thirst for honor, or fame, or gold; 
For when all these wishes have died away. 
The deep strong love of a brighter day, 
Though nourished in secret, consumes the more. 
As the slow rust eats to the iron's core. 

— Charles Dickens. 



The Pain of Love 

A mighty pain to love it is, 
And 't is a pain that pain to miss, 
But of all pains, the greatesit pain 
It is to love, but love in vain! 

— Abraham Cowley. 



From "The Angel in the House" 

She is so perfect, true and pure. 
Her virtue all virtue so endears. 
That, often, when he thinks of her. 
Life's meanness fills his eyes with tears. 

— Coventry Patmore. 
47 




The Marriage of True Minds 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love. 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove: 

no! it is an ever-fixed mark, 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; 

It is the star to every wandering bark 

Those worth *s unknown, although his height be 

taken. 
Love 's not time's fool though rosy lips aaid 

cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. 
But bears it out even to the edge of doom 
If this be error and upon me proved, 

1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

— William Shakespeare. 



Love 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights. 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame. 

All are but ministers of love. 
And feed his sacred flame. 

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



From "The Last Minstrel" 

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 
And men below, and saints above, 
For love is heaven and heaven is love. 

— Sir Walter Scott. 

48 



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Sonnet from the Portuguese 

If thou must love me, let it be for nought 
Except for love's sake only. Do not say 
*'I love her for her smile . . .her look . . .her way 
Of speaking gently, ... for a trick of thought 
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought 
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'* — 
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may 
Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so 

wrought, 
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for 
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheek dry, 
Since one might well forget to weep who bore 
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Thou mayest love on through love's eternity. 
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

Lass Andre Nur Im Reigen 
To the Silent One 

Thine eyes, so true, so tender. 

They tell me, day by day. 
More of thy deepest heart, Love, 

Than lips could ever say. 

— ^^ Emanuel Geibel. 



Song 

When, dearest, I but think of thee, 

Methinks all things that lovely be 
Are present and my soul delighted. 

— Sir John Suckling. 

49 






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r: 







You Ask Me for a Pledge, Love 

Ton ask me for a pledge, love, but gaze upon 
my cheek, 

And let its hue, when thou art near, my heart's de- 
votion speak; 

Look on my dim and tearful eye, my pale and rigid 
brow. 

List to my deep, unbidden sigh, — what need of pledge 
or vow! 

You ask me for a pledge, love, some token of my 
troth; 

Take then this flower, an emblem meet of woman's 
blighted youth; 

The perfume of its withered leaves^ triumphant o'er 
decay. 

May whisper of my changeless love when I have 
passed away! 

What, yet another pledge, love; then mark me while 
I vow, 

By all this heart hath borne for thee, by all it suf- 
fers now; 

In grief or gladness, hope, despair, in bliss or 
misery, 

I'll be what I have ever been— to thee, to only 
thee! 

— Alaric Alexander Watts. 

From "The Bonnie Wee Thing" 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty 

In ae constellation shine; 
To adore thee is my duty. 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine! 

— Robert BuBns. 

50 










M. 





From "Evangeline" 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in 
silence, 

Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of 
aflSiction, — 

Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession ap- 
proached her, 

And she heheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 

Tears then filled her eyes, and eagerly running to meet 
him, 

Clasped she his hand, and laid her head on his 
shoulder, and whispered, — 

** Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one another, 

Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances 
may happen!" 

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



Recollections 

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures ar« 
past — 
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove— 
The dearest remembrance will still be the last. 
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love. 

— George Lord Bjrron. 



Bonny Leslie 

To see her is to love her. 

And love but her forever; 
For Nature made her what she is. 
And never made another! 

— ^Robert Bums. 
51 





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I Love My Love With a Kiss 

Oh, I love my love in the lovely summer time 

With a kiss — or two — or three; 
Like a rose in June in the full of the moon. 

She is lovely, my love — is she! 
So I hold her close, and sing her a rhyme 

With a kiss — or two — or three; 
Like the honey of the hee or the blossom of the thyme 

Is my love, so dear to me. 

Oh, I love my love in the happy autumn days 

With a kiss — or four — or five; 
She is like the trees in the swinging of the breeze 

When the last warm breezes drive. 
So I clasp her close, and sing her praise 

With a kiss — or four — or five; 
Like the aster's blue in October's rays 

She 's the happiest thing alive! 

Oh, I love my love in the cheery winter time 

With a kiss — or six — or seven; 
Like the reddening snow in the sunset glow 

Is her cherry cheek at even! 
It is all for her — ^the Christmas chime 

And a kiss — or six — or seven; 
Like the stars of the sky on the sparkling rime 

Is my love — whose love is Heaven! 



52 



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Oh, I love my love in the merry spring mom 

With a kiss — or eight — or nine; 
Like the clematis ahloom or the violet's perfume 

Is my love in the May smishine. 
So I hold her dear when April 's born 

With a kiss — or eight — or nine; 
Like the lilies in the brook or the flower of the thorn 

Is the love I know is mine! 

— John Jarvis Holden. 



Sonnet from the Portuguese 

Yet love, mere love,. is beautiful indeed, 

And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright. 

Let temple burn, or flax. An equal light 
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed. 
And love is Are: and when I say at need 

I love thee . . mark! . . / love thee, . . in thy sight 

I stand transflgured, glorified aright. 
With conscience of the new rays that proceed 
Out of my face toward thine. There 's nothing low 

In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures 
Who love God, God accepts while loving so. 

And what I feel, across the inferior features 
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show 

How that great work of Love enhances Nature's. 
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



53 






Song 

Hard is the fate of him who loves. 
Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, 

But to the sjrmpathetic groves, 
But to the lonely listening plain. 



Oh! when she blesses next your Shade, 
Oh! when her footsteps next are seen 

In flowery tracts along the mead, 
In fresher mazes o'er the green, 

Ye gentle spirits of the vale, 

To whom the tears of love are dear. 

From dying lilies waft a gale, 
And sigh my sorrows in her ear. 

Oh, tell her what she cannot blame, 
Though fear my tongue must ever bind; 

Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame 
Is as her spotless soul, refin'd. 

Not her own guardian angel eyes 
With chaster tenderness his care. 

Not purer her own wishes rise. 
Not holier her own sighs in prayer. 

But if, at first, her virgin fear 

Should start at love's suspected name, 
With that of friendship soothe her ear — 
True love and friendship are the same. 

— James Thomson. 
54 








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Imitated from Catullus 
To Ellen . 
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, 
A million scarce would quench desire: 
Still would I steep my lips in bliss, 
And dwell an age on every kiss: 
Kor then my soul should sated be; 
Still would I kiss and cling to thee: 
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever^ 
Still would we kiss, and kiss forever; 
E'en though the numbers did exceed 
The yellow harvest's countless seed. 
To part would be a vain endeavor: 
Could I desist? — ah! never — never. 

— George Lord Byron. 



She is Not Fair 

She is not fair to outward view 

As many maidens be; 
Her loveliness I never Imew 

Until she smiled on me. 
O then I saw her eye was bright, 

A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold. 

To mine they ne'er reply, 
And yet I cease not to behold 

The love-light in her eye: 
Her very frowns are fairer far 
Than smiles of other maidens are. 

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
55 




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To Anthea 

Bid me to live, and I will live 

Thy protestant to be: 
Or bid me love, and I will give 

A loving heart to thee. 



A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
A heart as sound and free, 

As in the whole world thou canst find. 
That heart I *11 give to thee. 



Bid that heart stay, and It will stay, 

To honor thy decree; 
Or bid it languish quite away, 

And 't shall do so for thee. 



Bid me to weep, and I will weep. 

While I have eyes to see. 
And having none, yet I will keep 

A heart to weep for thee. 

Bid me despair, and I *11 despair 

Under that C3rpress tree; 
Or bid me die, and I will dare 

E'en death, to die for thee. 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart. 

The very eyes of me. 
And hast command of every part. 
To live and die for thee. 

— Robert Herrick. 
56 








Serenade 

Ah, sweet! thou little knowest how 

I wake, and passionate watches keep; 
And yet while I address thee now, 

Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. 
'Tis sweet enough to make me weep 

That tender thought of love and thee, 
That while the world is hushed so deep 

Thy soul's perhaps awake to me. 

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet hride of sleep. 

With golden visions for thy dower, 
While I this midnight vigil keep, 

And bless thee in thy silent bower; 
To me 'tis sweeter than the power 

Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled, 
That I alone, at this still hour. 

In patient love outwatch the world. 

— Thomas Hood. 



An Explanation 
Her lips were so near 

That — what else could I do? 
You '11 be angry, I fear, 
But her lips were so near — 
Well, I can 't make it clear, 

Or explain it to you, 
But — her lips were so near 
That — what else could I do? 

— Walter Learned. 
57 




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To Althea, From Prison 

When Love, with unconflndd wings, 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at the grates; 
When I lie tangled in her hair 

And fetter 'd to her eye. 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage: 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for a hermitage: 
If I have freedom In my love, 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 

— Bichard Lovelace. 



The Exchange 

We pledged our hearts, my love and I, 
I in my arms the maiden clasping; 

I could not tell the reason why, 

But, oh! I trembled like an aspen^ 

Her father's love she bade me gain; 

I went, and shook like any reed! 
I strove to act the man — in vain! 
We had exchanged our hearts indeed. 

— Samuel Taylor CJoleridge. 
58 




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Song 

I ne'er could any lustre see 

In eyes that would not look on me; 

I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, 

But where my own did hope to sip. 

Has the maid who seeks my heart 

Cheeks of rose, untouched by art? 

I will own the colour true, 

"When yielding blushes aid their hue. 

Is her hand so soft and pure? 
I must press it, to be sure; 
Nor can I be certain then, 
Till it, grateful, press again. 
Must I, with attentive eye, 
Watch her heaving bosom sigh? 
I will do so when I see 
That heaving bosom sigh for me. 

— Eichard Brinsley Sheridan. 



When I Think on the Happy Days 
When I think on the happy days 

I spent wi' you, my dearie. 
And now what lands between us lie. 
How can I be but eerie! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary! 
It was na sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

— Anon3rmous. 
59 



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When Thou Art Near Me 

When thou art near me, 

Sorrow seems to fly, 
And then I think, as well I may, 
That on this earth there is no one 

More blest than I. 

But when thou leav'st me. 

Doubts and fears arise, 
And darkness reigns, 

Where all before was light. 
The sunshine of my soul 

Is In those eyes. 
And when they leave me 

All the world is night. 

But when thou art near me, 

Sorrow seems to fly, 
And then I feel, as well I may, 
That on this earth there dwells not one 

So blest as I. 

— Lady John Scott. 

Origin of Love 
The "Origin of Love!" — Ah, why 
That cruel question ask of me, 
When thou may'st read in many an eye 
He starts to life on seeing thee? 
And should' St thou seek his end to know: 
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee. 
He *11 linger long in silent woe; 
But live — until I cease to be. 

— George Lord Bsrroa. 

60 



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She Walks in Beauty 

She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 

And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect, and her eyes, 

Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half-impaired the nameless grace 

Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lightens o'er her face. 

Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, how dear, their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow. 

But tell of days in goodness spent, — 
A mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent. 

— George Lord Byron. 



Music, when soft voices die. 
Vibrates in the memory — 
Odors, when sweet violets sicken. 
Live within the sense they quicken. 

Bose leaves, when the rose is dead, 
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; 
And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone. 
Love itself shall slumber on. 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
61 





Love's Way 

Why do I love you, sweetheart mine? 

In sooth, I cannot say. 
Love came to me so stealthily, 

I never saw his way. 

His gentle footsteps scarcely pressed 

The pathway to my heart; 
I only saw him standing there 

And knew he 'd ne'er depart. 

How can I teU what brought him wh^i 

I know not how he came? 
I only knew, and bowed before 

The magic of his name. 

So many are more beautiful? 

Ah, well, perchance 'tis true; 
So many are much better, dear? 

Sweet, no on© else is "you!" 

— Ealtimore Amerioaii. 



Love Me Little, Love Me Long 
You say to me-wards your affection 's strong; 
Pray love me little, so you love me long. 
Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire, 
Grown violent, does either die or tire. 

— Robert Herrick. 
02 










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To My Mother 

How fair you are, my mother! 

All, though 'tis many a year 

Since you were here, 
Still do I see your beauteous face. 

And with the glow 
Of your dark eyes cometh a grace 

Of long ago. 
So gentle, too, my mother; 

Just as of old, upon my brow, 

Like benedictions now, 
Palleth your dear hand's touch. 

And still, as then, 
A voice that glads me overmuch 

Cometh again. 

My fair and gentle mother! 

How you have loved me, mother, 

I have not power to tell — 

Knowing full well 
That even in the rest Above 

It is your will 
To watch and guard me with your love. 

Loving me still. 
And, as of old, my mother, 

I am content to be a child. 

By mother's love beguiled 
From all those other charms; 

So, to the last. 
Within thy dear, protecting arms 

Hold thou me fast, 

My guardian angel, mother! 

— Eugene Field. 




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